


On the Road to Jericho

by demetyr



Series: The Road to Jericho [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (but that's still no excuse), Arthur and Merlin are trouble magnets, Gen, Jericho 'verse, Magic, Other, Prophecy, Uther is not actually an idiot or a bigot, Warlocks, and Uther knows this, because magic that's why - Freeform, he's just terrified and traumatized which makes him act like an idiot and a bigot, over-protective-dad Uther, semi-weird Father-Son relationship, set in the Season/Series 01, somewhat non-canon, swearing fealty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demetyr/pseuds/demetyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther hasn't always hated magic; it was only with the death of his wife that his feelings about magic soured. And now the same magic that killed his wife is focusing on his son -- or maybe on Merlin, the grubby manservant who seems to always be right on hand to save Arthur's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Road to Jericho

_Perhaps they are like stars_  
_What you were before your birth;_  
_In the endless time of never coming back_  
_They shall have stars at elbow and foot_

Uther noticed her first.

She came back to Camelot as Merlin arrived for the first time, though no one knew it then. Not even Uther. He didn’t see her until the sorceress nearly killed his son.

Uther didn’t see the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes, didn’t see the boy dash impossibly quickly to his son’s side—Uther saw only the woman at the back of the room, the pale, unnaturally beautiful woman with dark, dark eyes and scarlet lips.

 _How?_ Uther wondered. _Why has she returned?_

And he followed the direction of her gaze to his own son, to Arthur, and in that moment Uther knew.

Yet at that very same moment, Merlin reached Arthur and dragged the prince down and out of the way of the thrown dagger, saving the prince’s life. Uther saw this, and just for a moment, turned to look at the woman again. She was still there, still standing at the back of the room, unnoticed by anyone else.

The smile that gently curved her lips, however, was something Uther had never seen before.

This was not the last time Uther saw her. Indeed, he found he could not go a day without seeing her, somewhere in Camelot.

At first, he thought she was following Arthur.

This inspired a quiet terror in the Pendragon king, for he had seen her do this before; follow a person indefinitely, without reason, before stealing them away. Uther hadn’t known, then, what was going to happen. But now he did, and it shook him that she might do to his son what she did to his wife.

He would not lose his son.

So he doubled his guard, began to hunt even more determinedly for magic, for sorcery. Only such evil could have summoned her here; only such dark forces could call her to Arthur.

She trailed after his boy, following his footsteps silently and still unnoticed.

Except by Uther.

 _Why is she here?_ Uther continued to wonder. _How long is she going to wait?_

No matter how many disasters seemed to come to Camelot—and there were quite a few, ever since she had returned; they never seemed to end now—she never took Arthur. Which wasn’t to say that everyone in Camelot escaped her grasp; such a thing was impossible. And if Uther accepted the casualties with a bit more relief than he should, well, at least it wasn’t his son.

It was when Bayard of Mercia came for the peace treaty that Uther began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Arthur wasn’t the only target she was here for.

Merlin was being particularly idiotic, claiming that Arthur’s chalice was poisoned, and though Uther outwardly scoffed and grumbled, inside he was on edge. The singing sorceress, Valiant, the plague… All since _she_ had returned.

Uther watched Merlin drain the cup, and felt something like relief loosen within him—until the manservant swallowed heavily, one hand reaching for his throat before crumpling to the ground, eyes wide with pain and—

Uther couldn’t believe it. Yes, there was pain and fear in the boy’s eyes, but there was also something rather disturbingly similar to satisfaction in his eyes, as well as a resigned kind of acceptance. And she—she was moving forward, finally coming from the back of the room, gliding, still unseen, towards Merlin’s still form, towards Arthur as he crouched over Merlin—

Uther shook his head. No, she had been following Arthur these past months, hadn’t she?

And yet, so had Merlin. Since that first night, Merlin had been with Arthur, following him around, shadowing him. Perhaps, then, she was not here for Uther’s son, but instead the boy.

 _But why?_ Uther wondered, on one hand relieved of his burdening terror, but on the other hand completely bewildered. _Why would she devote personal attention to a lowly manservant?_

Perhaps the boy warranted a closer look.

But not at the expense of Uther’s son.

The question haunted Uther thereafter, bubbling up in his mind every so often—usually after another of Arthur’s near-death experiences, or another near destruction of Camelot.

Usually after Merlin somehow managed to fix everything that was going wrong.

She circled closer around them, now; instead of yards away from the two young men, now she followed in their footsteps, literally shadowing them. And still, Uther was the only one that knew she was there.

Or was he?

Uther wondered if, perhaps, Merlin was not unaware of the presence following him and Arthur. It had only happened twice, but Uther would swear he had caught Merlin staring at _her_ , a wry grin barely ghosting across his lips before the manservant would shake his head minutely and then turn to bound after Arthur.

It seemed that Gaius was also aware that some other presence—that _she_ —was there; Uther could see the fear and worry in the old physician’s eyes whenever he gazed on the young manservant, mixed with a kind of fierce pride that Uther was unfamiliar with.

How could Merlin—how could a _serving boy_ —inspire such things?

Yes, perhaps he _did_ warrant a closer look. But Uther would have to be careful about it; it would not do to alert whatever sorcerer had conjured this monster that Uther was looking too closely, and it certainly would not do to bring _her_ attention away from the serving boy.

Merlin may have saved Arthur’s life more than once, but he was still a servant—expendable. Arthur… Arthur was irreplaceable.

There was no one else that could ever be Uther’s son.

It during the debacle with the Questing Beast that Uther began to suspect that she was not summoned by an outside source. Rather, he was beginning to think that she was here of her own choice—and this terrified him far more than if she had been summoned. If she had been called, then she could be returned, she could be defeated and exorcised. But if she was here of her own will and choice—

There would be nothing Uther could do.

There would be no way to fight her, no way to defend his son, his kingdom and his people.

There would be nothing Uther could do to stop her.

But when Arthur lived— _lived, his son would live!_ —through the Beast’s attack, Uther turned his attention immediately to the manservant. To Merlin, who was quiet and withdrawn, yet more determined than Uther had seen in any knight of the realm—of any realm.

What gave the boy his strength?

And it was this close scrutiny that allowed him to see, for the first time, the hint of the truth.

Uther had come to sit with his son, but stopped outside the door to Arthur’s chambers when he saw that it was ajar, and heard a voice within.

“I won’t let her take you, Arthur. She can try, and she can throw whatever disasters she wants to at us, but _I will not let her have you_.”

Merlin’s voice—Uther recognized it belatedly, having never heard the bumbling manservant speak in such a manner before. His voice was low and deep, a rich sound that settled somewhere deep in Uther’s gut. Merlin sounded like—well, not like a manservant at all. He sounded like a _king_.

Uther peered through the space between the door and the doorframe, just in time to see Merlin kneel before the sleeping Arthur.

“Here I swear, by mouth and by hand, fealty and service to Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.”

Uther froze.

“I swear to speak and be silent, to go and to come, to strike and to spare with regards to all your affairs. I swear this on my honor and my ability, in times of need or in that of prosperity, in times of war or in times of peace, in life or in the point of death, from this moment henceforth. So I swear to Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.”

Merlin remained kneeling a moment more, before rising to his feet. Uther turned and hurried away as silently as he could, unwilling to alert the boy to his presence.

The serving boy had just sworn fealty to his son. _Merlin_ had _sworn fealty_ to _Arthur_. While that particular aspect did not much surprise Uther, the slight rewording of the oath set several flags to waving in his mind. Merlin had not bothered to include the kingdom or the people, he only sworn his fealty to Arthur himself. And that title he had given Arthur— _the Once and Future King_ —Uther had only ever heard it whispered in ancient stories and even more ancient prophecies.

Uther shook his head firmly and entered his empty throne room, only to come to a jarring halt when he saw that the room was not quite as empty as he had expected— _she_ was there.

He stared at her, wondering if it could be considered impudence for her to be lounging on his throne. And she _was_ lounging, sprawled across the throne as if she owned it, her hair tumbling down in waves of earthen brown, her dark, dark eyes sparkling as those scarlet lips curved in a mocking smile.

“So you have seen,” she said lightly, and Uther flinched at the first sound of her voice, deep and dark and light and silken all at once, a whisper and a roll of thunder hidden within the lilting sound; the sweetest, most terrible thing he’d ever heard.

( _she hadn’t spoken the last time_  
_she was here, she had simply swept in  
__and swept out, taking Uther’s heart with her_ )

“Have I?” Uther murmured, watching her warily, ready to go for his sword should the need arise.

( _not that it would do any good; the sword_  
_would probably only tickle her and then_  
_she would laugh, she would laugh at him  
__and take them all anyways_ )

The smile gentled.

“So you have seen,” she said again, and then continued as Uther opened his mouth, “but you do not know _what_ you have seen.”

Uther closed his mouth, and the two regarded each other for what felt like a very long time, and also no time at all.

“Well,” she said, rising, and Uther flinched again, at her voice and at the movement. She crooked her lips in another smile, then made her way—silently, absolutely silently—past him, her long hair fluttering behind her like a cloak.

Uther could only watch her go in the direction of Arthur’s chambers.

**Author's Note:**

> You know how I said "This is currently a finished stand-alone piece"? AHAHAHAHA. I take that back.


End file.
